Trophy
by Ster1
Summary: Sam learns why hunt souveniers are strictly prohibited.


_Disclaimer: Nope, the boys aren't mine. Not likely to be anytime soon either. Darn._

_Reviews most welcome and appreciated!_

Sam Winchester was smirking. A good old fashioned, triumphant, I-did-it smirk. Over the entire weekend, whenever Sam was alone, he allowed himself the luxury of grinning ear to ear. This was going to definitely help his coolness status at school. Now if he could only keep it a secret from Dean until morning….

But there was that small, pesky problem with best laid plans, cosmic karma and the fact that Sam was, after all, a Winchester. Not that that automatically meant bad luck, just that whatever luck he had, it was destined to run out at the most inopportune times. Sam knew he'd been caught as soon as he heard Dean bellowing from the other room. "What the fuck? SAM!" Shit, he was gonna get it; he could hear the uncontrolled fury in Dean's voice.

Sam winced and began calculating his chances of reaching the front door before Dean caught him. That moment of hesitation cost him, though (Rule #2 of the Winchester Guide to Hunting: run first, think about it later.) Before Sam could even get up from his chair, Dean was in the kitchen, waving something furiously under Sam's nose.

"What is this? What the hell is this?" Dean must be mad, Sam thought. He rarely repeated anything twice. Sam changed his mental strategy: if he made a sharp right around Dean, jumped over that pile of hunting gear on the living room floor and ran like heck, he could still make it to the front door. After that, he could sneak onto a train like Dean taught him and make his way cross country, befriending the local hobos who would give him food. Maybe after a few years, his brother would stop looking for him……

Dean, however, was the high master of sneaky; anticipating Sam's plan, he grabbed a fist full of tee shirt and pulled Sam up from the chair. Sam inwardly groaned and steeled himself for the oncoming verbal onslaught. Trying to stop Dean now would be as effective as preventing a banshee from howling or a vampire from biting. You could do it but it would involve death and a lot of war wounds on both sides.

"You know very well we don't take trophies from a hunt. What the hell were you thinking, Sam! And don't give me that wounded puppy dog look; it doesn't work on me!" Dean's eyes were bulging and Sam hoped he wouldn't have a stroke. In Sam's opinion, Dean was overreacting (as usual.) After all, it was only a _little_ monkey paw.

Realizing that Dean had stopped ranting and was now expecting an explanation, Sam nervously cleared his throat. "Well, um, that is…" he started, hoping against hope that there would be a catastrophic natural disaster that would avert Dean's attention. If there were a huge earthquake and the ceiling caved in, he could save Dean and then Dean would be so grateful, he'd forget about everything else. He waited expectantly but the ceiling, with its patches of peeling paint, seemed determined to stay firmly in place.

The ceiling having failed him, Sam instead watched in fascination as Dean's eyes began to bulge from their sockets. _Geez, I'd better say something before he pops a vessel_, Sam thought with resignation. He gave a nonchalant shrug and replied, "The guys at school didn't believe me when I told them that I was a monster hunter. So I thought I'd prove it to them." As Dean sank into the folding chair, his expression changing from anger to shock, Sam answered defensively, "Well, it's only a _little_ monkey paw."

Dean closed his eyes for a minute and Sam could almost hear the counting that was going on in his head: one, two, three… Man, he must be in even more trouble than he thought. Dean was already on forty. Usually, he stopped at around twelve.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean opened his eyes and said with forced calm, "Sam, why would you tell your friends that we hunt monsters?" It obviously was a rhetorical question because he didn't even pause before continuing. "You know that you're not supposed to tell anybody about our family. This is the longest we've stayed in one place in, I don't know, ages. Wouldn't you rather stay in this apartment than in some motel? Don't you like going to a real school? If people find out about us, we'll have to leave again." Dean's anger was slowly dissipating, as it always did, and perversely, it made Sam feel worse. Making Dean mad was part of Sam's mission as a younger brother; disappointing Dean left churning, unhappy knots in Sam's stomach.

"I know, Dean," Sam said unhappily as he plunked down on the floor nearby. "But I haven't had friends in such a long time and they all brag about stuff. And it's so hard not to be able to tell anyone. I mean, we help people and fight all kinds of bad things. And that's waaaaay better than Dan's stupid comic book collection or Allen's new bike. I just want to fit in and be like the other kids." He looked down dejectedly and stared at the green linoleum floor.

There was a moment of silence as Dean thought about what his brother had said. He knew their life was hardest on Sam. Dean had stopped trying to make friends a long time ago. Family and the hunt-that's all there was for Dean. But Sammy felt differently and he wanted to be like any other twelve year old. Dean considered telling Sam the truth: they weren't "normal." They never would be. But Dean knew that someday life would show Sam that harsh, cruel fact. Sammy might as well try and pretend to be a regular kid while he still could.

He finally shook his head and said, "Look, Sam. You shouldn't have brought that thing home. Dad gave us those rules for a reason. I know it's hard for you and I wish I could make it easier. But this is our life and we have to keep each other's secrets. And we have to trust each other too. You were responsible for burning the monkey. What do you think Dad would say if he knew you took advantage of that so you could steal that paw?"

Sam's face had progressively gotten more and more horrified towards the end of Dean's lecture. "Dean, oh please, don't tell Dad. You know he'll kill me. I don't think he likes me much anyways. He's always on my case for something. And now this……oh, he's going to kill me!" Sam felt his heart begin to race and suddenly, he couldn't get enough air. He began breathing faster and gray spots danced in front of his eyes.

"Hey, breathe in and out. That's it, in and out," Sam heard his big brother's voice speaking gently into his ear. Sam realized he was now sitting in a chair with his head between his legs. How did he get there? Dean, that was it. Dean was taking care of him. He closed his eyes again and took deep, long breaths.

When Sam opened his eyes, he saw Dean watching him with an odd expression. "Sammy, I know Dad is hard on you sometimes but it doesn't mean he doesn't like you. He loves you, kiddo. He's just had such a rough time since Mom died. So you gotta give him some slack. But don't stress-I won't tell him about the paw. We'll take it to the woods and burn it ourselves. Okay?"

Sam's relieved, delighted grin answered that question. Dean smiled in response and turned back to retrieve the paw. "It's not here," Dean said flatly as he surveyed the kitchen table.

"What do you mean, it's not there?" Sam asked worriedly. "How could you lose it, Dean?"

"ME? What do you mean, me?" Dean shouted. "You brought home a paw from a cursed monkey. Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe the paw's cursed too?" His eyes were bulging again and a Sam could see a vein start to pulse near Dean's right temple. Oh, man, he was really in for it.

Sam tried to speak but found that all he could utter were a series of inarticulate sounds. Dean nervously paced the kitchen, saying, "Think, think. If you were a cursed monkey paw, where would you go?" He didn't have to wait long for an answer. Various kitchen knives began hurling towards the brothers, though fortunately with less than perfect aim.

"Run!" Dean yelled, pushing Sam into the other room. They stopped and stared at each other. "Now do you see?" Dean asked sarcastically, one eyebrow raised for dramatic effect. "That's why we burn the paws with the rest of the monkey, okay?"

Sam pushed the hair out of his eyes before answering a resigned, "Yeah, okay, I got it. Can we just find it before Dad gets home?" Dean grunted and the two of them edged their way back into the kitchen.

"Where the hell can it be?" Their search of every drawer had proven unsuccessful and Dean was getting irritated. "When I find that stupid thing…."

Apparently, cursed monkey paws, besides an affinity for knives, also do not appreciate being insulted. A minute later, it was hanging off Dean's throat, squeezing the breath out of his trachea.

"Shit! Dean, hang on!" Sam ran over and started to pull on the paw without much success.

"Any day now, Sam," Dean gasped convulsively. His face was turning purple as he struggled for air. But the harder they pulled, the more tightly the paw held on. Dean was now hunched over and Sam was panicking, his attempts to pry the hairy fingers off his brother proving fruitless.

Suddenly, there was a splash of wetness and the paw loosened its grip, falling motionless to the ground. Their father stood, the now empty flask of holy water in his hand, and studied his two sons with an unreadable expression. "Dean, are you okay?" He asked. When Dean nodded in the affirmative, John said quietly, "Good. When you've caught your breath, you and Sam come into the other room. I'll finish taking care of….this."

As their father abruptly turned and left the apartment, the two brothers exchanged glances. They both knew what the cold, contained voice meant: trouble. Sam felt his heart racing, only relaxing a little after Dean winked at him.

The brothers sat in silence as Dean's breathing steadily returned to normal. Sam jumped nervously as the front door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the small apartment. Afraid of what he would see in Dean's eyes, he avoided making eye contact as they both made their way to stand before their father. It was bad enough seeing the disappointment and anger in Dad's eyes.

"Well, whose bright idea was this one?" their father's tone was deceptively quiet and other than a twitch next to his left eye, his face equally impassive. "Because I know that that paw just didn't detach itself to come looking for us." The sarcasm bit hard and Sam winced. Oh, God, he was going to get it.

Silently hoping for a nice funeral, Sam opened his mouth to confess when Dean suddenly spoke up. "It was my fault. I thought it would really impress this girl in my class; she's into this kind of stuff. She doesn't know about us or anything. I was going to tell her I found it in an antique store. I know it was a really lame thing to do."

As his mouth opened and closed, Sam suspected he looked like a very guilty-as-hell fish out of water but no one seemed to be looking at him. Even as Sam tried to contradict Dean's version, their father launched into a furious tirade. "How could you, Dean? I depend on you to stay in line, to follow the rules and be a good soldier. Instead, you do something so stupid! Not only could you have exposed us, you could have gotten your sorry ass killed! Or what if it had attacked Sam? Could you live with knowing your stupidity hurt your brother?"

Dean's face tightened as he said, "I would never put Sam in danger. You know that."

"I though I did," their father answered angrily. "But maybe I was wrong. You're going to have to earn my trust again. In the meantime, you're grounded. And no driving for three months. Just be glad it's not longer." He turned from Dean and stormed off into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

The two boys were left standing and a painful silence filled the room. Dean stood as if carved from stone, his eyes blank and Sam felt like crying. This was all his fault but there was no way to make it right: telling the truth now would only make the situation worse. Dean must really hate him for causing this whole mess, Sam thought. How could he have been so selfish and dumb?

Dean finally lowered himself down onto the couch with a sigh, imprints from the monkey's fingers standing out in shades of purple and red on his neck. Sam went over and hesitantly touched one of the bruises, his eyes stricken as they met Dean's. Instead of the lecture Sam was expecting, he was shocked to see Dean smile at him reassuringly. "Hey, Sammy, don't take it so hard. We're both fine-that's the main thing. Dad will chill. It just takes him some time, that's all."

"But I was so stupid! That thing could have killed you!" Sam's voice cracked. What if he had been responsible for Dean's death? Sam sank onto the sofa next to Dean and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

"Hey, Sam. Sam! Look at me," the authoritative tone of Dean's voice got Sam's attention and he reluctantly obeyed.

"Now what you did _was_ stupid. No doubt about it." Sam squirmed again in guilt as Dean continued. "Are you going to do anything like that again?"

"No, never." Sam answered fervently.

"Okay, then." Dean sounded satisfied. "Now we move on." He closed his eyes and leaned back; apparently, as far as Dean was concerned, the whole affair was settled.

Sam, however, wasn't so ready to let things go. "But you covered for me. And Dad's mad at you! It's not fair!"

Dean answered quietly, "You might want to keep your voice down, sport, before Dad hears you." He opened his eyes with a sigh. "Look, Sam, life isn't always fair. Sometimes it's because of choices we make; sometimes it's just because it's life. You just have to learn to make the best of it." At the sight of his little brother's face, Dean grinned widely: Sammy looked like he was listening to Plato or something.

Sam looked surprised and then grinned back. The tension was easing and the silence was now comfortable. Sam playfully slapped Dean's arm and said, "Well, I can still try to make it a little more fair. Hey, when Dad's not around, I'll do your chores. And I'll wash and wax the car so when you can drive it again, it'll look really great."

Dean inwardly laughed at this enthusiastic display: Sam was just a dork sometimes. He knew his brother well enough to understand that unless he made some kind of amends, Sam would just continue to feel guilty. "Okay, geek boy. That sounds great" he agreed. His throat ached suddenly and he felt very tired. "I'm going to take it easy for a little bit. Can you start up dinner?"

"Sure, Dean, no problem," Sam jumped to his feet. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean opened his eyes reluctantly.

"You know, I don't need a monkey paw or any lame ass bike or comic book to be cool. I got something way better." Sam gave him that shy, almost heart wrenching look that always made Dean want to cry. "I have you."

Dean waited until Sam was out of sight before allowing a smile to steal across his face. "Now and forever, Sammy. Now and forever," he whispered.


End file.
